


Please Come Home

by HesitateDisintegrate



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Abusive John Winchester, Beating, Brotherly Love, Child Abuse, Dean Winchester Whump, Drunk John Winchester, Hurt Dean Winchester, Hurt Sam Winchester, John Winchester Being an Asshole, Physical Abuse, Poor Dean Winchester, Protective Dean Winchester, Running Away, Sam Winchester Runs Away, Stressed Dean Winchester, Whump, Young Sam Winchester, finding sam, its freezing outside
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-10
Updated: 2021-01-10
Packaged: 2021-03-14 00:20:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,204
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28662360
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HesitateDisintegrate/pseuds/HesitateDisintegrate
Summary: This is the story of when Sam ran away on Dean's watch.
Comments: 4
Kudos: 50





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Whelp. I'm back again, ignoring my WIP and writing randomness instead. The violence in this one gets a little graphic, and I'd warn for triggers of abusive parenting.

Dean felt ten feet tall. At 16, he had killed his first werewolf, and to top that, his dad had been watching. He could feel the satisfying click of the trigger as he shot that silver bullet right into the beast’s heart, and he was buzzing with excitement the entire ride back to the motel. 

“Dean I’m just gonna drop you off okay?” John asked in a slightly distracted voice. 

Dean’s good mood burst like a bubble. He knew what that tone meant, and he knew exactly where his dad was going. 

“Don’t worry, I’m just gonna swing by the bar for a drink or two, maybe hustle some pool,” John reassured him once he saw his tight lipped look. Dean wanted to scoff at the blatant lie, but recent victory or not, he knew showing any sass would get him a good whack across the ear. 

“Sure dad,” He answered quickly, trying not to let his annoyance or worry seep into his voice. Still, he felt the injustice of it all. It was his first big win, they should be celebrating together with pizza and a movie marathon. And Sam. 

“Oh and tell Sam to help you pack up. We’re leaving in the morning,” John said easily. 

Dean never knew it was possible for his mood to plummet so far so fast. Sammy _loved_ this little town. They had been here long enough for him to enrol at the local school and finally make a few friends. Moving was going to crush him, and Dean hated that he would have to be the one to tell his brother the news. 

All too soon, the dingy motel came into view and John let the car roll to a stop without pulling into the parking lot. 

“Hey Dean,” John called out the open window once he had shut the door. “I’ll be back soon okay?”

Dean gave his father a smile that he hoped didn’t look too fake, and watched as he gassed it down the road. Dean knew better than to believe him. One hour would turn into two, then slip into three, then four, and John would no doubt come back once the sun had set, blackout drunk. His moods were never predictable when he was in that state, and Dean always tried to get Sam to bed before John got back on nights like that. 

He took a deep breath and walked into the room, completely unsurprised to see his brother sprawled across one of the beds doing his homework. He looked up with a bright smile, but Dean didn’t miss how his eyes scanned him up and down, no doubt looking for injuries. 

“You’re back!” Sam chirped, voice cracking slightly in that prepubescent way of his. 

“And,” Dean taunted, “I killed a werewolf.”

“No way,” Sam gasped, eyes going as round as gum balls. “What was it like? Did it bleed on you? Did it explode? Did you get hurt?” 

Dean held his hands up in defence against the rapid-fire questions and Sam clamped his mouth shut, but the curiosity still burned in his eyes. 

“It was like pulling a trigger. Like I had already done it a million times.” Which he had. They both had. John was very serious about their target practice. “It kinda just died, I don’t know. Nothing fancy, just took the bullet and slumped down and stopped moving.”

The story wasn’t all that captivating, but Sam reacted like Dean had just told the greatest battle saga in all of history. 

Dean felt gross. He knew he stank, he knew he was sweaty and grimy and probably had cobwebs in his hair from that stupidly dirty warehouse. He desperately wanted a shower, but at the same time, John could have been serious about coming home soon, and Dean knew if they weren’t packed by the time he was back, there would be hell to pay. 

He sat down on the bed, deliberately not wincing at the aching pain in his ribs because he knew Sam would worry if he found out how much Dean had been tossed around before he made the kill. 

Dean took another deep breath, steeling himself to tell Sam the news. He wanted to ease the kid into it, but it was highly possible that there wasn’t time. Better to just rip it off like a bandaid. 

“Sammy, dad said to pack up because we’re leaving.”

The brightness seeped out of Sam’s eyes so quickly that it physically hurt Dean to watch. His brother stood frozen, almost as if he was waiting for Dean to say he was kidding, like he couldn’t really believe it was true. 

“We should probably get started Sam,” Dean added gently. His brother’s silence was really starting to freak him out. 

“But Dean, I like it here. I _love_ it here.” The desperation in Sam’s voice was really not helping. 

“Sammy we don’t have a choice. If dad says we gotta go then we-“

“We don’t have to listen!” Sam interrupted. The fire in his voice surprised Dean, and when he looked at him more closely, he was even more surprised to see his eyes were watering. He wished he had some way to comfort the kid, but he knew this drill because he had been there too. They could cry, they could scream, they could thrash, but no matter what they did John would pack them up and take them along anyways. It was just a matter of how tough they wanted to make the process on themselves. 

“You know that we do Sam,” Dean answered in a warning tone, but that seemed to agitate Sam even further. 

“Why can’t _we_ just leave? We’ll live on our own and go to school and hunt for food and we’ll be okay,” Sam begged. Dean had no idea how to tell him how equally blissful and wildly impossible that sounded. He didn’t really get the chance to because Sam was suddenly onto him. 

“IT’S NOT FAIR DEAN,” Sam bellowed. He dragged both hands through his hair, making it stick up every which way. 

“I’M NOT LEAVING.” Sam screeched. He tossed his pages violently off the bed and the sheets fluttered to the floor with a rustle.

“Sam,” Dean said, rising from the bed to try and calm his brother, who was crying for real now. He held his hands up, possibly for a hug, but Sam punched at Dean’s chest instead. Dean caught his tiny fists and held them tight in his slightly bigger hands. 

Sam growled and thrashed against him for a moment before going limp and falling against Dean, who wrapped him up in a tight hug. Dean could feel his brother’s racing heart against his chest and he swallowed past the lump in his throat. They stayed like that for a long time. 

Dean eventually peeled Sam away from him and crouched down to his eye level.

“What do you say I shower this gunk off and we go out for ice cream huh? I’m sure you’ll feel better after some sugar and we can talk about packing then. We’ll be back before dad even knows we were gone. It’ll be our little secret.”

Sam clenched his jaw and didn’t answer, but Dean could see that the fight had drained out of him. He was endlessly relieved that Sam had had his tantrum while John was gone, otherwise he might have gotten a good beating on top of everything. 

He gave Sam’s arms one last squeeze before he gathered his clothes and ducked into the bathroom for a shower. It was quick, five, ten minutes tops, definitely not long enough to wash the ache out of his knotted muscles. Dean didn’t mind though. His only thought as he quickly dried off and tugged on clean clothes was which flavour of ice cream Sam might want and if he had enough loose change left to afford one for himself as well. 

He hung his wet towel up to dry and gathered his dirty clothes to add them to the pile, then stepped out of the steamy bathroom. 

“Hey Sam are you ready to-“ 

Dean cut off, not because he couldn’t think of what to say, but because he had no more air in his lungs. The room was empty. It was pitifully small with absolutely nowhere to hide, and it was _empty._

“SAMMY” Dean bellowed, not caring if he was disturbing the guests in the other rooms. His brother was fucking _gone._ He could have been snatched, attacked, fuck he could have been _killed_ in the time it had taken Dean to shower. How could he have been so _stupid?_

Dean threw his clothes down, not caring where they landed or how much mess he was making. He tore open the motel room door and yelled for Sam at the top of his lungs again. 

No answer. 

He took off in a run, circling the teeny motel complex and calling for his brother. 

Still no answer. 

Dean rushed back into the room, feeling like he might hurl everything he had eaten in the last day. His stomach was in knots. His heart felt like it might rip out of his chest. 

Thats when his eyes landed on a piece of notebook paper neatly folded in half and tented so it stood up on the bed. 

_‘I’m running away. Don’t try to find me.’_

The handwriting was in Sam’s neat scrawl, there was no doubt about that, but the evidence that his brother hadn’t been stolen didn’t calm Dean one single bit. Actually, if anything, it made an entirely new wave of anxiety wash over him. 

The kid was tiny. Scrawny in a way that a stiff breeze could blow him over. He had absolutely no idea what was out there. Dean may have been training since he was four, but John was never that strict with Sammy. He babied him, doted on him, sheltered him, and now his inexperience might get him killed out there. Alone. 

Dean rushed back into the bathroom and this time he really did hurl. He threw up over and over again until nothing came up but watery acid, and he still didn’t feel better because his brother was out there and it was all his fault. 

_Fuck Dean. Think. Fucking think._ He ordered himself. 

He mentally mapped out their small town. The grocery stores, corner stores, newspaper stands, fruit and vegetable market, community centre, the high school and elementary school, the park, public pool, police station, the industrial part of town with all the wide open warehouses, the construction zone near downtown with its cranes and bulldozers. The strip of oddity shops and restaurants and bookstores at the heart of town. Sam could literally be _anywhere._

_Food. Sammy would probably stock up on food first._ Dean realized with a start. He was running out the door before he could fully hash out his plan, but he knew his brother was too smart to starve. He also knew his brother was completely broke, so he wouldn’t be in any grocery stores trying to buy things. 

_The fruit market._

Dean ran the short distance there, eyes continually scanning the roads on his way. In his mind, the time ticked. He had showered way too long and then had spend even longer stupidly freaking out instead of actually going out and _doing something._ He wanted to kick himself, but there wasn’t time for that. 

Once he reached the market, he slowed down, but only a little. He wove through the crowded place, eyes peeled for a scrawny shaggy haired child, but among the towers of apples and neat rows of multicoloured grapes in baskets, he saw nothing. It was loud, way too loud for Sam’s normal liking, and definitely not a place he could bear to be in for long in his frantic state. 

Dean twisted and spun, already feeling dizzy in the overwhelming flood of colours and scents and noises. With the sensory overload and his roaring anxiety together, Dean felt like he might faint. 

If he couldn’t stand to be there, he knew for a fact neither could Sam. 

_Wrong place, idiot._ He cursed himself. But if not here, then where? Would Sam run and hide in the school for a while? Would he go into town? The bus station? 

The thought of Sam boarding a bus and physically getting very far very quickly made Dean, if possible, even more nauseous. He bolted out of the market, not caring how many people were looking at him like he was crazy. He _felt_ crazy. He had lost his brother. How could he have been so _stupid?_

Dean chose at random and decided to just check downtown. Sam might have thought he would have some luck pickpocketing in a busy area. The kid was nothing if not a planner, so his priorities would be food and money, then to get the hell away as quickly as possible. Or he might hunker down somewhere and wait it out. He was clever, but also very hurt at the moment. Maybe he thought if he hid, Dean and John would give up looking and leave him be. 

Dean wildly hoped it was the second option, because that meant he at least had a chance of finding Sam. The world just seemed too damn big at the moment. Too wide open and accessible. 

After running top speed into the town’s centre, Dean took a quick look up and down the road. There were many people outside, but none of them were his brother. He ducked into the first store on the street, a wildly colourful candy shop, but it was empty. The next store contained nothing but shoes and no Sam. The third store was filled with used books, and Dean got yelled at for running up and down the aisles, but it didn’t amount to nothing because Sam wasn’t there either. 

By the time he had popped into each store up one side of the road and down the other, Dean’s head was spinning and he was painfully aware of how much time had passed. Where could he even look? The sun was starting to set, and it was actually quite chilly. He was grateful for having put on a sweater before he left, but that thought only led to the numb realization that Sammy was in a t-shirt, probably freezing his skinny ass off. 

For a moment, Dean considered calling John and asking for help, but the fear that rose quickly squashed down the intention. John would tear them both to shreds if he knew Sam had pulled this kind of stunt. Still, Dean wished he had someone who could stay at the motel and let him know if Sammy came back. 

_Maybe he did,_ Dean thought suddenly. Maybe the kid got cold and gave up on his suicidal ‘running away’ plan and decided to head back to the motel. 

Dean hardly allowed himself to linger over the flare of hope he felt. His lungs were burning from all the running, but he ignored them as he barrelled back to the motel. He was running so fast, so eager and so sure that Sam would be back, that he didn’t see the impala parked in the lot. 

Actually he didn’t think of anything except his brother until he opened the door and ran straight into a livid John Winchester.


	2. Chapter 2

“WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN?” John bellowed upon seeing his son. Dean froze on the spot. He couldn’t tell his dad that Sammy had run away or else his brother would be in some deep _deep_ trouble. With a sinking realization, he remembered that they were supposed to have packed everything up. Instead, the room was scattered with Sam’s papers and Dean’s filthy clothes. 

“You were supposed to have packed,” John said through gritted teeth. From this close, Dean could smell the booze on his breath, but he didn’t have to in order to know his father was drunk. His face was flushed red, his eyes were glassy, and he was swaying ever so slightly on his feet. 

“Yeah, I- We.” Dean stammered, suddenly finding his mouth too dry. 

“Where is your brother?” John asked with a dangerous acidity in his voice. 

“He’s coming,” Dean answered quickly. His mind was racing, pulling in so many different directions that he couldn’t finish his sentence and come up with a good cover. He couldn’t _think_ because it was highly possible that Sam was in trouble already. What if a monster got to him before Dean did?

“HE ISN’T HERE?” John boomed. He was still quite a bit taller than Dean, and despite his bravery, Dean cowered down slightly. 

“Where is he,” John asked, deadly quiet. The swings between yelling and whispering were making Dean’s head spin.

Dean swallowed and found he had no words to respond. 

“WHERE IS HE?” John repeated louder, gripping Dean closer by a fistful of his shirt. His face was so close that Dean could feel his breath ghosting over his cheeks. He could feel the spray of spit from John’s yelling landing across the bridge of his nose. 

“He ran away,” Dean heard himself whisper. He immediately regretted saying it. He didn’t even know exactly _why_ he had said it, but who could blame him? John Winchester was nothing if not intimidating. 

The blow came out of nowhere. It didn’t even hurt at first, Dean just found himself on the ground, face mashed into the leg of a chair. Then his senses returned and pain exploded behind his eyeball so sharp he could have sworn someone had just ripped it out.

“You let him RUN AWAY?” John snarled, lifting Dean from the ground with an iron grip on his arm. Dean flew up like he weighed nothing more than a rag doll. John’s backhand blow was so strong blood spurted from Dean’s nose that same second. 

Dean felt his head loll back. His father was drunk. Completely drunk. He could probably have gotten some good hits in and knocked him unconscious, but Dean knew the rules, and rule number one, the rule that had been drilled into him with many _many_ painful lessons, was that he was not allowed to hit back. 

“You piece of shit,” John yelled, throwing Dean back onto the floor. Dean didn’t know which way to curl, to protect his kidneys or his belly. Turns out he should have protected his head because John’s kicks came raining down relentlessly. Dean curled his hands up around himself but this seemed to anger John even more because he kneeled and used his fists instead. It was less powerful, but a hell of a lot more accurate and Dean found himself wishing he could somehow just die so it would all be over. 

Maybe it was the exhaustion of the hunt, maybe it was all the drinks, but John’s blows slowed and eventually stopped much sooner than they normally did. Dean uncurled and sat up quickly. Rule number two was that you cannot be a wuss and grovel in pain afterwards. 

John looked at him with steely, livid eyes. 

“You will get up. Get out. And find your brother.”

Dean nodded quickly and immediately regretted it because the movement made his brain hurt. 

“I don’t want to see your face again unless he’s with you, and so help me god, if that kid is hurt Dean, if something happened to him, don’t bother coming back. In fact, run, because I will hunt you down and kill you myself.”

Dean swallowed hard. He told himself firmly that it was just the alcohol talking, but either way he scrambled to his feet. 

“Yes sir,” he said quickly, then ducked out the door before John could pull him down for round two. 

It was properly dark outside now, and in addition to his aching muscles and new injuries, Dean started shivering in his sweater, which just made everything a hundred times worse. His head hurt like someone had stuck his brain in a blender and poured the mush back into his skull. He had no idea where to start looking for Sam, but he knew he wouldn’t find him by standing still, so he picked a direction and just started walking. 

He passed quickly by the construction site, eyeing the machinery for any lumps that looked human. Everything was cold and dark, no movement whatsoever. 

“Sammy,” Dean croaked. No answer. 

“Sammy please, if you’re there please come out. I’m begging you.” 

Still no answer. 

Dean sighed and turned to walk away when a floodlight suddenly turned on. 

“Hey kid, what are you doing here?” Said a loud voice. Dean cursed, realizing the entire construction zone was plastered with no trespassing signs. They had hired a guard to watch the area at night. 

Whoever had called out to him clicked on a flashlight and started walking quickly towards him. Dean took off in a run and didn’t look back until he reached the darkened school playground way at the other end of town. He leaned against the rock climbing wall, breathing hard. His cheeks felt cold, so he swiped at them, disgusted to find that they were wet with tears. 

“Fuck,” He groaned, pushing his hair out of his face. He was _exhausted_ and in so much pain that it hurt to breathe. One eye was swelling so badly he could barely see out of it, and his head was thumping painfully with every heartbeat. 

Then, from the top of the curled plastic slide, came a soft voice he never though he would hear again. 

“Dean?”

“SAMMY,” Dean yelled, probably louder than was strictly necessary. His brother slid down, shoes making muffled little squeaking noises the whole way. Dean felt weak with relief, and ran to catch his brother at the bottom of the slide. 

He swept him into a tight hug and Dean ignored the painful crunch of his ribs when Sam hugged him back just as tight. Sam was shivering so hard his bones were basically rattling. 

“I’m so sorry Dean, I wanted to run away but then I realized I had nowhere to go and then it got dark and I didn’t have any weapons on me and-“

“Shh,” Dean interrupted. “It doesn’t matter Sammy. You’re home now. I’m just glad you’re okay.” 

Sam squeezed him once and let go, stepping back to look at his brother in the dark. 

“You sound funny, is everything okay?”

“Yeah Sam, everything is more than okay,” Dean answered. He raised a hand and touched his lip, just now realizing that it was split and bleeding and starting to swell. 

“Huh,” he mused. “I guess that werewolf got me good.”

Sam squinted at him and Dean was endlessly thankful for how dark it was. 

“Are you bleeding?” Sam asked slowly, voice full of concern.

Dean huffed, easily deflecting the question. 

“You should see the other guy.” He gave Sam a wild smile and shoved lightly at his shoulder. 

“Come on kid, we should be getting back.” 

Sam nodded stoically and Dean unzipped his sweater and wrapped it around his little brother. Sam was swimming in it, but his shivering stopped. 

“We really have to leave?” He asked glumly.

Dean laid an arm over Sam’s shoulders and squeezed. “Yeah kid. I’m really sorry.”

Sam sighed heavily, a sound much too loaded and worn down for a child of twelve. Dean wanted to fix it immediately but didn’t know how, so he made a promise he hoped he would eventually be able to keep. 

“Someday you and I are gonna get our own place, and we won’t move anywhere. We’ll have our adventures and then come straight home and eat pizza and drink beer.”

From underneath his arm, Sam looked up at him with a gleam in his eyes. 

“You’d let me drink beer?”

“Sure,” Dean reassured him with a smile. 

The motel came into view much too soon for Dean’s liking, and his anxiety twisted, huge and barbed in his chest as he eased open the door. His dad was passed out on a made bed with the lights still on. Dean exhaled, instantly feeling a million times safer. 

John would wake in the morning and hopefully be so hungover he wouldn’t remember a thing. Maybe he would even believe Dean if he said the black eye, the split lip, and the bruises littering his body were from the hunt. 

Sam wordlessly and very quietly gathered his papers back up. Dean pulled their duffle bags out of the tiny dresser and laid their clothes and few belongings back into them. It took maybe ten minutes before everything was packed, and Dean set their bags and weapons neatly by the door, ready to go in the morning. 

After a brief moment of hesitation, he dug into his dad’s duffle for a Tylenol and swallowed it with a cupped handful of water from the bathroom sink. He carefully avoided his gaze in the mirror, just crawled into bed beside Sam and hoped he would get at least a couple hours of rest before they would be up and on the go once again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic is in no way a hate Sam fic. He was a poor, clueless baby child and had no idea what really went down. 
> 
> Also, in this house, John Winchester has no redemption. He is evil and thats the end. 
> 
> P.S. Let me know what you thought! I'm weak and need constant external validation

**Author's Note:**

> Ouuuu cliffhanger. JK not really. I'll post the second chapter in a few minutes but I want to read over it one more time.


End file.
